


And They All Lived

by Spoiler



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoiler/pseuds/Spoiler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a child, Finnuala Cousland loved fairy tales.  She wanted to go on epic adventures, slay the dragon, and marry the handsome prince.  Turns out childhood dreams aren't all they're cracked up to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Meeting of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> I used a lot of game dialogue in this chapter. It belongs to Bioware and I do not claim it.

At first he thought he must have the wrong group. The woman who approached him with concern knitting her brow was a mere child. She couldn't possibly be a Grey Warden, but when the archers emerged he could see her expression turn from sympathy to annoyance. She had all but rolled her eyes while quickly sidestepping the falling tree meant to crush her. And when her eyes had met his she had given him a  _ look  _ like he was a misbehaving child — more exasperat ed than  angry or afraid . Zevran didn't know whether to be impressed or insulted. She saved him for last.

He came to  hogtied  with the Warden leaning over his lithe form securing the final knot. As the rope dug into his ankles and wrists he couldn't help but wonder where she had honed such skills. Already this was shaping up to be a more interesting job than he had imagined. When she had finished she stepped back with arms crossed under her chest and Zevran couldn't ignore the way the stance pressed her breasts against her armor. He wasn't sure he was meant to. She fixed him with that  look  once more—her pale eyes boring into his as he slowly lifted his gaze from her cleavage. The Templar at her side gave him a disapproving glare.

"You've been a very naughty boy," the Warden said as she bent down to his level.

Her voice hadn't been what he was expecting. It was high and breathy and unnervingly girlish—the sort of voice one adopted to feign innocence or vulnerability, the sort of voice that turned most men into bumbling fools. He shifted his gaze back to the templar who was doing his best not to stare at the firm curve of the Warden's ass. It appeared to be a losing battle, and Zevran couldn't help but feel sorry for the fool.

Whoever she was, this girl was no amateur. That much was certain. She carefully plucked one of his daggers out of the tall grass and sniffed gingerly at the blade.

"Deathroot," she said crinkling her nose in disgust.

"You're a clever little thing aren't you?"

She tossed the dagger carelessly back to the ground, and its poisoned tip barely missed the assassin's tattooed cheek.

"Ah," Zevran replied, "I am certainly clever enough to know when I am at the disadvantage. I must confess, I rather expected to wake up dead after your… _stunning display_."

He ran his eyes up and down her body—emphasizing the last two words. The templar rolled his eyes, and Zevran chose to ignore him.

"Is it customary to take prisoners in Fereldan?" he asked wondering at the strangeness of such a thing.

"How delightfully foreign!"

"I might have gotten a wee bit cared away with the knots," she divulged with sheepish smile, "and I couldn't just let all that hard work go to waste. All that intricate handiwork would just look so dreadfully macabre on a corpse. Don't you agree?"

She paused, waiting for his answer.

"Indeed. Now before this progresses any further perhaps I should answer your questions. I am certain you have many and I do not wish to waste your time."

The Warden pouted.

"All business and no play, is it?"

Her lips curved into a grin and Zevran found the twinkle in her eye disturbing.

"I would prefer to avoid torture if it is all the same to you," he replied discerning the meaning behind her words. “It leaves the most hideous scars."

She nodded in agreement.

"It would be a pity to inflict such a thing on someone so pretty."

Zevran's ears perked up. So his charms were beginning to work after all. Perhaps all was not lost.

"I have forgotten my manners," he said making a tsking noise with his tongue. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows. I was sent to kill you by a fellow named Loghain. "

The strangers exchanged a glance.

"He sent  _ _ you _ _ ?" the templar asked in disbelief.

Zevran was not certain he liked the man's tone.

"Yes," the assassin haughtily replied trying to sound as indignant as one could while roped on the ground like an animal. "Or rather the Crows sent me. I do not believe your Loghain was even informed of the plan until I arrived."

"Then who ordered the kill?" asked a redhead Zevran had taken little notice of before.

She was wearing the robes of a chantry sister, but she had fought alongside the rest of her little party earlier. Zevran found her thick Orlesian accent oddly comforting. So he was not the only one away from home. Interesting.

"A rather unpleasant fellow," he responded, "I believe he said he was an arl of some sort--Howe, I think?"

Zevran had just enough time to register the anxious exchange between the Templar and the Orlesian before he felt the cold tip of a sword against his neck.

"You're one of Howe's men?" the Warden spat.

Her eyes burned into him like fire, and he found himself thankful for the thick binds that made recoiling impossible. Her glare was as steely as the blade biting into his skin, and Zevran realized that there was more behind it than anger. It was a look he knew well though he had only ever seen it worn on his own face. He averted his eyes.

"No," he said simply. "I am a skilled assassin trained by the Crows. My only allegiance is to them."

Slowly, the warden lowered her sword. Her companions let out a collective breath of relief though he could still see the worry in their eyes. The mage by their side looked disappointed.

"Are we to draw this out forever?" she asked in an exasperated voice. "'twould be most inadvisable to let the elf live. Surely you are not entertaining such thoughts?"

"Perhaps allegiance is not the right word,” Zevran hastily clarified. “ In truth I had very little choice in joining the Crows, and now that I have failed to kill my mark I have very little desire to return. They may very well kill me on principle for not completing the job and truth be told I enjoy living."

"That is an unfortunate predicament," the female Warden conceded, "but I fail to see how it concerns me."

"Perhaps we could come to some sort of arrangement? You are the sort to give the Crows pause, and if I traveled with you I could offer my services. Warn you if they decide to try something more sophisticated—or if you prefer I could just stand around and look pretty. Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors, no? I am a man of many skills."

The corners of the girl's mouth turned up with amusement and the templar frowned.

"You're not seriously considering taking an assassin with us?” he cried. “He just tried to kill you! Does that really seem like a good idea?"

The warden turned her feminine wiles on her tall, male companion.

"Oh Alistair," she said placing a hand on his arm, "I'm sure we can handle one little elf. We've already bested him once and we could  use the help."

The man looked unconvinced, but gave in nevertheless.

"Alright,” he reluctantly agreed. “I see your point, but if there was a sign we were desperate I think it just knocked on the door and said hello."

The busty mage was still staring daggers, but the Orlesian sister brightened.

"I for one think it will be exciting to have one of the fabled crows on our journey. I'm sure you have plenty of stories to tell."

Zevran shot her a lecherous grin.

"Well there was this one mark who could do the most fantastic things with her mouth—"

The redhead's happy grin melted.

"—or maybe not," she said in disappointment.

"So it is decided then," Zevran added quickly before they could change their minds.

"It would appear so," the warden replied giving him one last appraising glance.

"Morrigan," she ordered, "untie our friend here and see to his wounds."

The mage opened her mouth in protest, but was quickly cut off.

"—and there's no need to be gentle."

The mage smiled and did precisely  as she was told.

 


	2. Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I make no claim to any game dialogue.

By the time they reached camp it was nightfall and the cozy tents and warm fire could not have been more welcome to Zevran's eyes. After a long day of incessant walking and questioning he longed to curl up in a bedroll and sleep. Unfortunately, the large growling beast approaching the group seemed to have other plans. Zevran cautiously put one hand on his dagger ready to strike if necessary, but the Warden lunged forward before he could pick an angle of attack.

"Hello boy," she cooed while scratching the creature's ears. "Did you have fun with Sten while I was gone?"

The monstrous animal barked happily licking her face, and for the first time Zevran noticed its wagging tail. He relaxed his hand.

"Ah," the assassin said deeply unimpressed, "a dog. How very… Ferelden. "

He reached out tentatively to pet the beast, but it snapped its jaws and returned to growling at him.

"Ah, ah, ah," the warden scolded waving a finger at the mabari. "We're nice to Zevran."

She turned to look at the elf.

"Well, for now at least."

The hound whimpered sadly, clearly displeased with being denied elven bones to gnaw on.

"And who is this…charming fellow?" Zevran asked—his eyes never leaving the dog's large canines.

"Actually you never did tell us his name," the templar spoke up. "It might be nice to have something to yell the next time he chews up my figurines."

"Oh, I do hope it's something pretty," the redhead said brightening at the prospect. "You'd be shocked at how many people simply call their hounds Dog. It's so unimaginative."

The mabari had flipped onto its back and was rolling in the dirt completely oblivious to the conversation.

"His name is Muffin," the warden replied.

She was too busy scratching her pet's stomach to witness the looks of horror on her companions' faces.

"Muffin?" Alistair said in disbelief. "You named that—thing Muffin?"

The dog bared his teeth and the templar raised his hands in defense.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that name," he said backtracking. "It's great—ferocious even. Darkspawn will warn their children about you. The mighty Muffin who felled an ogre with his battle roar. Yep, definitely a name for legend."

The beast wagged its tail.

"I think it's cute," the Orlesian cooed. "If a bit misleading."

The warden looked at her in confusion.

"How is it misleading? Muffins are sweet, and he's sweet. Aren't you boy?"

The dog yipped in agreement.

"…right," Zevran said changing the subject. "Are there any other friends I should be introduced to as well? Perhaps, this Sten fellow?"

The warden waved her hand in an indeterminate direction, and stood up—dusting the dirt off her armor.

"I'm sure he's somewhere around here. You should probably meet Wynne as well."

Zevran's ears perked up.

"Another beautiful woman? I am beginning to like Ferelden more and more."

The warden snorted.

"You'll have to be careful with dear Wynne. If she gets too excited she might break a hip."

"Yes," Zevran said his eyes glittering. "I'm sure that will offer quite the challenge."

The group wrinkled their noses in disgust and walked further into camp, leaving the assassin trailing behind.

"Fereldans," he said shaking his head, "such finicky people."

 


	3. Crow Around The Campfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no claim to any game dialogue paraphrased or otherwise.

"Is this typical Ferelden cuisine?" Zevran asked warily eyeing the grey substance in his bowl.

It had been the templar's turn to cook and he had chosen to make a rather chunky sludge Zevran had been assured was stew.

"Yep," Alistair happily replied. "That's Ferelden for you. Just throw everything in a pot and boil it until you have a nice, uniform mush."

Zevran raised the spoon to his mouth and caught a whiff of the vile concoction. He exchanged a knowing glance with the Orlesian who was doing her best not to retch, and then firmly set his bowl aside.

"I find myself overcome with fatigue," he announced stretching for effect. "Perhaps I should retire, yes? "

"More for me then," the templar said greedily dipping into the abandoned bowl.

The Warden seemed less pleased.

"I doubt there will be much time for rest, Zevran," she announced. "You're on first watch."

Alistair nearly choked on his stew.

"But Finn we're supposed to be on first watch," he pointed out.

"You can have second watch with Lelianna. Zevran and I will take first."

"B—but," the templar spluttered. "He tried to kill you. You shouldn't be alone with him!"

The Warden's pale eyes narrowed.

"I am quite capable of defending myself against an incompetent assassin."

Alistair looked unconvinced.

"Besides," she purred. "If he tries anything you can come in with your big, broadsword and decapitate to your heart's delight."

"I am many things," Zevran chimed in trying to deflect the conversation away from decapitation. "But I am not a fool. If I were to kill your dear warden now I would have no hope of escaping camp with my life."

"Well…I suppose I could use a nap," Alistair conceded.

The subpar food and talk of sleep made everyone rather anxious to get off to bed and it wasn't long before Zevran and the Warden found themselves alone nestled next to the warm campfire.

"I do not know how you Fereldans survive this place," Zevran said leaning into the glow. "Antivan nights are as warm as a loaf of bread fresh from the oven."

"I used to know someone from Antiva," the Warden supplied. "She always hated the winters in Highever, too much snow."

"How did she find herself in such a place?"

The Warden stared at her lap.

"Marriage."

"Ah," Zevran said leaning back. "I am not surprised. Antivan women make the most beautiful brides. I hope her husband was deserving."

"He was wonderful. Brave, kind—"

"Attractive?"

The Warden laughed.

"Of course, he was my brother. It's in the blood."

"So it is."

Their eyes met and Zevran was surprised to see the intensity of his own gaze mirrored.

"I know what you're doing," she whispered.

"Truly? Then perhaps you could tell me because I haven't the faintest id—"

"Oriana told me of the Crows," she said cutting him off. "How they seduce their marks before killing them. My mother always objected to the stories of course—said it was unladylike to discuss such things, but I loved them. I listened very intently."

She leaned in closer until their noses were almost touching—her eyes never leaving his.

"You're more than welcome to try you know."

Zevran swallowed.

"But don't think I'll be an easy target."

And with that the Warden stood and left to wake Alistair for the second watch. Zevran could hear the light wrapping of her delicate hand against the canvas tent, and he smiled.

 

 


End file.
